It's a year almost that I have not seen her:
    Oh, last summer green things were greener,
    Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer.

    It's surely summer, for there's a swallow:
    Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
    The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

    Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow
    O'er height, o'er hollow! I'd be a swallow,
    To build this weather one nest together.

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